


Charcoal Smudges

by MerthurIsMyOTP



Series: Benedict Bridgerton's Bisexual Adventures [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Benedict Bridgerton Has No Clue How Gay Sex Works, Bisexual Benedict Bridgerton, Boys Kissing, Complicated Relationships, Exploration, F/F, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Gay Sex, Gen, Hair-pulling, I Write Smut All The Time But Somehow Tagging This Is Hard, Implied Sexual Content, It Really Is Just Hot & Passionate Sex, Kissing, Lesbian Eloise Bridgerton, Light Dom/sub, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Questioning, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sir Granville & Lord Wetherby Teach Him, Swearing, Teasing, They're All Eager, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, To Fuck Or Be Fucked? Benedict Gets Both.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerthurIsMyOTP/pseuds/MerthurIsMyOTP
Summary: A two-chaptered story in which Benedict, with the help of Eloise, realizes the true side of his mind, months after accidentally seeing Granville and Wetherby. And thanks to his mother's attempts to find a forgiving suitor for Eloise, Benedict might get more than he ever even dared to dream.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Genevieve Delacroix, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville/Lord Wetherby, Benedict Bridgerton/Lord Wetherby, Henry Granville/Lord Wetherby
Series: Benedict Bridgerton's Bisexual Adventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136498
Comments: 23
Kudos: 161





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finished watching Bridgerton this morning, and as a good member of the LGBTQ+ community, I could not let these characters (and actually the show) get away with it! The first chapter leads up to a threesome in the second chapter. Be warned :p

Benedict Bridgerton has always felt a little… Odd. 

Not that ‘odd’ was the right word to describe it, but he simply lacked words to give it more of a meaning. The lingering feeling was nothing but a blurred charcoal sketch in the back of his mind. Perhaps, that is why when he actually tried to draw something, it ended up being no more than precisely that. 

Eloise, witted as she was, seemed to know of this oddness he felt. She spoke about her own oddness deliberately. Much too freely for a lady for her age and rank. Yet, Benedict seemed the only of the siblings who truly did not mind her sharp tongue. Everyone tried to silence her. Benedict found her rebellious spirit to be a reflection of his own; even though he kept it hidden.

At this very moment, his dear sister scribbles in one of her many notebooks. She frowns occasionally, crossing out something she wrote and starting over with a frustrated grunt. Benedict finds it endearing. He stares down at his own work. Charcoaled lines smudged together into the figure resembling a male torso. Strong, lean muscles underneath taut skin. Or well, that’s what he sees in his mind. The image on his paper is dull. Empty.

Benedict presses his lips together silently. He wishes there was a way to get the image that chases him in his mind onto the rough paper underneath his fingers. He hasn’t felt this troubled in quite some time and he nearly despises Sir Granville for having been so… Careless. Reckless, even.   
Because of _him_ , Benedict’s mind pools with the adamant memory of two male bodies pressed ever so urgently together.   
A trembled sigh shakes him from his thoughts and he closes his sketchbook. It’s too much to think about at this very moment. He must go out for a walk.

A long one, most likely.

“Mother,” he speaks swiftly as he stands up, tucking the notebook securely into his side. “I’ll be out for a while.”  
“Oh?” She smiles surprised. “Will you be back by dinnertime? I’ve invited Lord Wetherby. The sweet young man never secured a match in the last season, and I thought it might be a good idea to-”  
“Lord Wetherby?” Benedict asks. 

_Male hands digging into a strong lower back. Crotches grinding together, the stubble of a freshly shaven beard against one’s neck._

Benedict’s nostrils flare and he realizes he must look like a complete and utter fool. He forces himself to send his mother a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I would never miss a dinner that holds such weight.”  
“You’re a good son, Ben. And I think the Lord would make a good match for our Eloise.”

Benedict simply smiles, ignoring his sister’s displeased tirade, and turns around to walk out the door. 

-

“Brother! Wait!”  
Benedict turns around, surprised to hear a voice calling after him. He immediately recognizes Eloise’s fast tread as she descends the stairs. A cheery, cheeky smile decorates her face and Benedict has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. It is instantly clear that she is in the midst of one of her schemes.

“Mind if I join you?”  
“Actually-”  
“Ah, wonderful!” Eloise beams and hooks her arm through his. Benedict sighs in defeat and looks at her warmly. He could never turn her down and she, of course, is highly aware of his fondness towards her. Benedict has let her behavior slip too often to act the role of a strict brother now. And perhaps, her refreshing presence is exactly what he needs to lighten the burdened thoughts.

“How’s your romance novel coming along?” He teases, knowing very well that Eloise would rather wear one of Genevieve’s low-hemmed dresses than to write such a thing. Eloise snorts in response and playfully leans into his side.  
“Do you want me to give a proper, ladylike answer?”  
“Oh, please no! Indulge me, will you?” Benedict has to admit he’s always been ridden with curiosity by whatever story it is that keeps her so occupied. He would never take the liberty of reading it, although the thought has crossed his mind.  
“The bride-to-be has poisoned her suitor and executes her long-lived dream to run off to the countryside with no one but her maid.”

Benedict nearly laughs until he sees a small, yet noticeable hint of worry crossing her face  
“I do hope,” he starts on a more serious note, “-that this tale of yours is not how you plan to prepare for next year’s social season.”  
“I would not do such a thing,” she simply answers. Benedict hums. She would never have the heart for a deed so cruel. He does know that escaping this smothering society is her biggest wish. If she could, she would be in university already. She’d be the smartest person to ever attend. Unfortunately, this fate is not meant for her. Benedict clears his throat.  
“That reminds me. I found some of my old books from my time at university. Would you like to have them?”

Eloise stops walking altogether and stares up at him.  
“You are serious,” she states, searching his face to confirm her words. Benedict nods.  
“Anthony would duel you to your _grave_ and send me off to _marry_ if he found out,” she sighs.  
“I do not believe so. I think Daphne showed him that women are more capable than he might have thought.”  
“If you say so.”   
They continue their stroll and Eloise seems to ponder about his offer for a short while. “I could hide them in my ribbon drawer. Anthony would never waste his time looking there.”  
It makes Benedict laugh and it is his time to bump into his sister slightly. Eloise’s eyes sparkle after that. Her tread lighter. They don’t talk for a few minutes, simply enjoying the basking glow of early spring’s sunbeams. 

“Brother, you must tell me,” Eloise asks then. “Why do _you_ not have a wife?”  
“That is a highly inappropriate question for…” His voice trails off when he realizes the words that were about to spill from his lips. Eloise purposefully ignores the unspoken belittlement.  
“I just don’t understand.” She continues. “Daphne secured a match within her first season. Anthony, well, has a bad case of heartache to deal with. But you… This was your _third_ season. Yet, you did not even try to court a lady.”

A lady. _A lady._ His mind leaps at that. 

“I danced with Miss Cowper,” he says, hearing all too well how weak his voice sounds. As if Miss Cowper’s name is no more than an excuse for something that Benedict dare not think of.  
“Miss Cowper, ha!” Eloise laughs scornfully. “I bet you wouldn’t have if Mother hadn’t been watching.”  
“Eloise,” Benedict faces her. “I do not know the answer to your question. If I did, I would tell you. Besides, you know about Genevieve and myself.”  
“I know! I know. I just…” Eloise seems to hesitate. “Well…”  
“Well?”  
“I saw your sketches,” she blurts out. A slightly startled and apologetic smile works itself up onto her face and she licks her lips nervously. “I did not mean to look, I swear, I- My gaze fell upon them and I could not stop looking. You drew it so beautifully.”  
“What exactly…” Benedict ignores the unsettling swirls in his stomach. “Did you see?”  
“I-” Eloise draws her gaze to the gravel path. “Wish to not make assumptions about what I saw. Male bodies, that is certain.”  
“Eloise Bridger-”  
“I do not _care_ , brother! You can talk to me about this.” 

Benedict blinks a few times as he feels a peculiar sense of astonishment settle over him.  
“What are you hinting at.”  
“Ben…” Eloise’s voice is gentle now and she squeezes his arm lightly. “Do you wish for it too? To be in such an intimate embrace with another man?”  
“I told you, Eloise, I do not know.” 

Those words prove to be the last push for Benedict to realize that he _does_ know. Or knows enough, that is. Otherwise he would not even _think_ to partake in such a discussion. Any other man in London would have felt sick to the bone at Sir Granville’s abominable display. Benedict had felt anything but sick. His sentiment is more like... awe. The same type of awe he feels towards Madame Delacroix. This isn’t love. He is no fool. But it seems like he could develop feelings towards either; man _and_ woman. How does something like that even come to be?

“I am certain it _is_ better than Miss Cowper’s embrace,” Eloise tries to make a light-hearted joke about the matter, but her smile vanishes rather quickly. “Not that I think about embracing Cressida, obviously. I- Well-”  
Benedict frowns and looks down at the troubled expression lingering on his sister’s face- and all makes sense. It is so simple, really.  
“Not Cressida,” he says. “But perhaps another young lady?”  
“Perhaps.”

Benedict does not have to ask again. It is a confession. He lays his free hand onto his sister’s one. “Mother would be devastated if she were to find out. Two children on the wrong side of virtue.”  
“Is it wrong, though? So many _things_ are wrong that you and I do not agree with. Such as me not being able to go to university.”  
“It is sinful, at least,” Benedict whispers. “Mother should not know of this.”  
“If we do not tell, she will not find out,” Eloise says, her voice betraying a mixture of determination and hurt.

“You will have to marry one day,” Benedict mutters. “I'm safe. Even if I were not to marry Miss Delacroix, others wouldn’t dare say a word. For you…”  
“I am aware that it’s a delay at most. But perhaps if I do find who Lady Whistledown truly is, I could ask her for help. She seems to be independent enough.”  
“Are you any trace closer to finding her identity?”  
“No, I’m afraid not.” Eloise laughs. “But for what it is worth, neither has the Queen. Is it strange to be looking forward to the next season? Lady Whistledown’s gossip was the one thing making it somewhat enjoyable.”  
“I still can’t believe you thought it was Genevieve,” Benedict grins. “Although I am pleased you hold her in such high regard.”  
“Oh, you.”

They’re silent as they continue their stroll, thinking about every word they’d spoken to one another. Benedict feels consolation within her presence, and the knowledge they now share.  
“Sister, everything will be alright for us.” 

Eloise simply squeezes his hand. Benedict doesn’t blame her for not believing that such a thing is possible.

-

Benedict thinks it’s the world’s greatest joke that his mother is trying to get Eloise and Lord Wetherby acquainted. Of course, if Eloise _has_ to marry, perhaps Lord Wetherby would not even be a bad choice after all. They could both live to their truth freely if they were to be together. He will speak to Eloise about it later.

Later, because these are no matters to discuss when one entertains guests. And especially not when, much to Benedict’s alarm, he sees it’s not just Lord Wetherby at the dinner table.  
“Ah, Benedict!” Henry exclaims cheerfully. Benedict dutifully walks over to the man, heart pounding in his chest, and he tries not to cross his gaze with the man’s wife.   
“Henry,” he laughs, reciprocating the sentiment as he sits down on the seat next to the painter. Henry’s eyes shine playfully.  
“I was hoping to see you here tonight. I missed you at last night’s party.”  
“Ah, a shame I could not make it,” Benedict politely agrees. He’s painfully aware of Eloise staring them down, but he decides not to look back at her right now. 

Sir Granville’s eyes do flutter away to take a quick glance at his supposed male lover at the other end of the table. The young man returns the gaze with a broad smile. Benedict feels a hint of… Longing. He does not know what for and he is certain that any exploration of the feeling might be more suitable at, well, nighttime.   
“Looks like it was an enjoyable party indeed,” Benedict says, knowing very well he may be speaking out of turn. If that is the case, Henry does not seem to mind. In fact, he leans in a little closer.  
“We hope you can join us next time, don’t we, Wetherby?”

Benedict dare not look at the other man as he feels his cheeks redden with the burning fire that claws at his heart.

“I’ll be sure to make it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments on this fic!!!! I am so pleased that I can finally upload the new chapter today! You would not believe the amount of time I spent writing and editing this. It's safe to say it's the most challenging thing I've ever written. I'm not a native English speaker, let alone that I should know any Regency terms/slang/etc. Which is why I am all the more proud of the way it turned out! I know it's not perfect but I hope that only makes it better ehe XD
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their suggestions on Lord Wetherby's name! In the end, I decided to go with Nicholas. I hope y'all like that! 
> 
> PS. I updated the tags! So please read through them and see if this is something you might like yes or no <3

Benedict Bridgerton has always felt a little… _Odd_.

He doesn’t think that he’s ever felt it as distinctly as now, though; a fortnight since Lord Wetherby and the Granvilles had accompanied them at their dinner table. Benedict hasn’t seen either of them since. 

Well, that’s to change at this very moment.

Benedict strides over to the large property that is Sir Granville’s home. His cheerful steps are but a mere deception of the tempestuous stirring he feels inside of him. Benedict’s only anchor is his leather-wrapped sketchbook that he holds securely under his arm. It’s needless to say he had disposed of the more scandalous sketches.

Benedict had wondered how he would muster up the courage to follow through with this, but now that he finds himself here, he does not cower at the door. He does not linger. He simply knocks three times and is almost instantly met with Sir Granville’s radiating warmth. Benedict has a hard time not to stare. Everything about the other man is pleasant. His twinkling eyes. His winsome smile- most infectious.  
“Ah, Bridgerton! What a pleasure seeing you here.”  
“I would not miss any of your remarkable classes, Sir.”  
“You flatter me,” Granville retorts. The man’s playful smile tugs at Benedict’s heartstrings. “Please, come on in.”

Not much later, Benedict finds himself seated in the luxurious studio that Granville’s home provides. It’s a lovely room; no one would dare disagree on that. It’s lively. Brushes and paint scattered everywhere. The chairs, the windowsills and even the floors are not spared from the wide array of colourful stains.  
Benedict traces the rough texture of the empty canvas in front of him. His eyes dart forward. In the midst of the room, he sees the bared bodies of two young ladies tangled together in a soft embrace. They do not move, allowing for the art students to capture their every detail. Benedict thinks of his sister and her desire to lay with another woman in this manner. She would be so envious if she knew her brother could see what she never had.  
“Endearing, is it not?”

Benedict’s fingers still on the canvas. He hadn’t noticed Sir Granville standing behind him. A rough, warm hand gently squeezes his shoulder.  
“Certainly,” Benedict whispers. “Are they…?”

He cannot finish his question. It is too shameful to him still; to acknowledge that he consorts with the outcasts of society. Even his conversation with Eloise had been most difficult. It was easier to talk in riddles and hope the other person would then unravel them.  
“Yes, they are,” Henry answers. It seems he is not burdened with the same internal struggle.  
“I see.”  
“Does it bother you?” Benedict’s head snaps up at that, and he finally meets the man’s gaze. Another riddle. _Are you like us?_ That is the question Sir Granville so clearly asks.  
“No, it does not bother me.”

Henry’s hand slowly moves up at that, his fingers brushing past the collar of Benedict’s white shirt. The shuddering breath that escapes Benedict’s lips seems to please the man. Sir Granville leans in.  
“Perhaps,” he whispers, his voice sultry and quiet, “-you should like to start drawing them, then.”

As swift as the wind, Henry is gone. Benedict blinks, pressing his lips together in an attempt to regain himself. He shifts in his seat and flushes red when he notices the effect of Henry’s words on his manhood.   
Henry _is_ right, though. Benedict is here to learn how to be a better artist. He should like to start drawing sooner rather than later. He hums quietly to himself, determined to ignore the burning in his loins. A piece of charcoal should do to help him stay focused. 

Carefully, he starts to sketch the outline of the women’s bodies. They still haven’t moved, but Benedict revels in the knowledge that they most probably enjoy laying in each other’s presence like this. Safe and proud.

…

It must be hours later when Benedict notices that the other students are leaving. Benedict wishes he did not have to go. He proudly studies his artwork one last time. Some of the lines are askew, and the proportions do not always quite make sense. The essence is there, however. It radiates the love between the ladies he’d drawn.  
“You’ve improved,” Henry praises him, and he pulls up a chair. “I take you’ve been practising at home?”  
“I did, Sir. Practice, I mean. Eh- Thank you.”  
“You do not have to call me ‘Sir’ all the time, Benedict.” Henry’s eyes twinkle, and he tilts his head slightly, studying Benedict’s face.   
“Will Mister do, then?” Benedict jokes, causing the other man to laugh.  
“Just call me Henry.” 

It is silent for a few seconds then. Henry licks his lips and frowns lightly. His demeanour is demanding a sudden seriousness and Benedict dares not to breathe.  
“Nicholas and I would like to invite you,” Granville begins. “Privately. If you wish.”  
“Sir Gr- I mean, Henry. I would not wish to mend between you and Lord Wetherby. You are…” Benedict struggles to continue. “You are lovers, are you not?”  
“We are lovers, yes.”  
“Then… Do you not wish for me not to intervene?” Benedict asks carefully. Henry smiles and seems to understand Benedict’s hesitance.  
“If I, or Nick, did not want it, I would not ask. You see, we have never been able to fool around as you and your brothers have. It’s more than thrilling to have found you.” Henry leans back against the backrest of his chair.

“Of course, that is if you have a similar desire. The invitation stands, Benedict, and if you wish to use it, you can. Whenever.” Henry chuckles. “Best have it not be the night of a festivity. We would not want someone to walk in on us, would we?”

Benedict laughs and blushes. He still feels mortified of having caught both men in the past. And yet...  
“Am I not the proof such encounters can turn out for the better?”  
“More than proof you are, Benedict. Still, I do not wish to test our luck further.” Henry stands up from his chair and glances at Benedict’s drawing once more.  
“Will you take this home or should we keep it here? I do not know of the curiosity of your family.”  
“I have a sister,” Benedict smiles fondly. “She is most curious, but I think this image might be to her liking.”

-

It is four days later. Benedict _does_ linger at the doorstep this time. The cold, crisp air surrounds him. He is aware that he should make a decision soon. _The invitation stands, Benedict, and if you wish to use it, you can. Whenever._   
How can one be expected to decide on such a matter? Benedict would regret it for the rest of his life if he does not follow through now, but it is so utterly _frightening_ . He wants this. _Them_. He wants to taste their lips even if just once. It is frustrating that he cannot shake the weight of society off his shoulders. If he does this… What will become of him? His desires are sinful. Wrong.

 _‘Is it wrong, brother?’_ He hears Eloise’s voice ask in his mind. Benedict smiles weakly. ‘ _No’,_ he’d tell her. ‘ _Others may think differently, but these desires are not wrong.’_   
Eloise would scoff and tell him to get on with it then. She would not tolerate his impatience, nor his indecisiveness. Eloise would barge into Sir Granville’s home and drag her bashful brother along with her.   
If anything, Benedict owes it to her to use his privilege and ignore this inner conflict. He deserves to enjoy his life without shame. He should not have to play by the rules of a society so flawed.

Benedict vows to himself he will not let himself turn stone-cold with heartache, as his eldest brother had. Benedict will nurture his passion and act upon it. If he gets caught, at least it will have been worthwhile.

“Come on, Ben, just do it,” he mutters and knocks onto the door at last. _Oh, God._ He did it. He waits anxiously for it to open. A nervous smile settles on his face when the hinges creak- only to vanish again when he sees it’s no one but Lucy.  
“Mrs Granville,” he chokes out. “I am most sorry. I did not think-” Lucy laughs and steps aside.  
“Lord Bridgerton, come in. I’m sure Henry and Nick will be delighted that you have chosen to accept their invitation.”

Benedict just stares at her for a moment. He cannot grasp the fact that she _knows_ , and doesn’t seem to mind. Good Lord, here she is, inviting him into her home knowing his precise intentions with her husband. Yet, she treats him as if he’s here for a mere cup of tea. Lucy is more deliberate in her marital bounds too, of course. He remembers her trembling body underneath his own most vividly. Perhaps that is why she is more accepting of her husband’s antics.  
“I think you should like to stop staring now, my Lord. It is hardly appropriate.” She grins playfully and pats his shoulder. “It is not me you’re here to see, after all.”

“Oh, Lucy!”   
Benedict looks up startled and finds Lord Wetherby at the end of the hallway. He leans against the doorway passively and smirks. “Do not scare him away, will you? The poor man is not used to this yet.”  
“Ah, you’re right dear,” she smiles at Lord Wetherby fondly. She places her hand on Benedict’s shoulder and pats it once, then leaves them be. Benedict stares after her puzzledly. She called Lord Wetherby dear. As if he’s part of the Granville family.   
A tug at Benedict’s heartstrings confirms that that is exactly what this is. The Granvilles have chosen love over hatred, and even without children of their own, they’ve built a more extensive, closer, family. A family which consists of London’s like-minded people; as Benedict saw at the few parties he attended.

“Bridgerton,” the young Lord beckons for him to come closer. “We were residing in Sir Granville’s bedchamber. Care to join us?” Benedict sees the mischievous glimmer in Lord Wetherby’s eyes, and it causes his groin to burn with desire. It soothes his nerves to hear the man speak so clearly, inviting him in once more. Benedict is wanted.

“My Lord,” he addresses the man politely as he follows him up the stairs. “Forgive me if I’m speaking wrongly, but-”  
“Please, call me Nicholas. Or Nick, even.” Lord Wetherby states amicably. “We should not confine ourselves with something as arbitrary as one’s titles.”  
“Eh, Nicholas, then. I… I can’t help but to wonder,” he stammers, looking back over his shoulder at the place Mrs Granville had left off. “Does she… Truly not mind?”  
“You’ve slept with her, did you not?” Benedict’s cheeks burn. He did not think she would’ve told them. “Don’t you think she enjoys the freedom she has while having the security of marriage? She married Sir Granville by choice, Benedict, fully informed of our attachment.”

Benedict nods and presses his lips together in relief. He had found himself worried about her role in this arrangement, yet he had not wanted to assume out loud that she might be unhappy.  
“You can ask her too if you wish. Lucy doesn't mind talking to those who are open-minded enough.”  
“I see,” Benedict smiles. He feels very out of place at sudden because of his shyness. Nicholas is nothing like he is at the parties. He’s bolder, here. Less strained. Confident, too, when he opens the door to what must be Sir Granville’s chamber. 

“Benedict, darling!” Henry sits up straight, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, and smiles broadly. His shirt hangs unbuttoned and untucked, and Benedict can’t help but lower his gaze to revel in the stunning sight. He swallows. Only then, he notices the ruffled mess that is Nicholas’s hair. _Oh.  
_ “Mister Granville,” he greets the man back timidly. He does not know what to do with the explosion of flutters in his chest. “I do hope I am not interrupting.”  
“Not in the slightest.” Henry tuts. “You couldn’t have caught us at a better time.” 

Benedict smiles and tries to appear loose. However, the tension in his body does not lie. Nicholas catches onto his disquietude and cocks his head towards the bedside table.  
“Would you like something to drink? Brandy, perhaps?”   
“Please,” Benedict accepts the offer gratefully. Henry pats the bed and Benedict takes place next to the man clumsily. He accepts a glass of brandy and gulps it down in one go. He groans, his eyes watering at the sting in his throat. When he sees Henry’s horrified expression he grimaces.

“Oh, Dear, you really needed that didn’t you?” Henry pats his back and chuckles. Benedict sighs. He sees how Nicholas already pours him another glass.   
“You don’t have to drink it straight up, this time, we’re not _that_ scary,” he jokes, and Benedict blushes.  
“I didn’t mean-”  
“Hey,” Henry bumps into him playfully. “It’s all right. It’s… Quite something, isn’t it? To be here?”  
“It is,” Benedict admits. “I almost wanted to call back the carriage.”

“Well, we’re glad you didn’t,” Nicholas says and sits on Benedict’s other side. He blatantly rests his hand on top of Benedict’s leg. The warmth of his fingers burns through his breeches and Benedict gasps. Nicholas grins as if to say: ‘ _Am I doing something wrong?_ ’. 

“You’re flirting with me,” Benedict whispers. Henry gently places his hand on Benedict’s other thigh and leans in. Benedict finds himself pressed flush between both the men’s bodies and he takes a deep breath as the fluttering in his stomach intensifies.  
“Does it bother you?” Henry asks, repeating the question from the other night. Benedict groans helplessly when Nicholas’s hand travels up slightly, then digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Benedict’s inner thigh.  
“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Benedict takes a deep breath. “I like it.”

“Nicholas,” Henry groans. “Show Bridgerton what we were up to before he showed up…” Nicholas grins smugly, a smile that is so different from the one he sends the ladies in the ballrooms.  
“Watch,” the young lord chuckles and stands up from the bed- Benedict’s thigh now cold where Nicholas’ hand had been. Benedict can feel his heartbeat rise quickly as he watches how Nicholas kneels on the floor right between his lover’s legs.

It all happens so fast after that. Benedict watches entranced at how Henry’s fingers tangle themselves into the short strands of Nicholas’s hair. How Nicholas leans in and places hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses on Granville’s stomach. Benedict’s cock certainly never sprung to life as fast. He knows he’s staring, but how could he not? They’re gorgeous. It is quite different from anything he has experienced himself. The ladies he’s slept with are delicate. Of course, Madame Delacroix may like it a little more roughly, but it’s nothing compared to the equal force with which the men’s bodies collide.

“Nick,” Henry utters out breathlessly. “Nick, darlin’...” Nicholas responds by fumbling at the buttons of Henry’s breeches. Henry groans and extends a hand to lift Nicholas’s chin. “Do you want to please me, dear?”  
“Please-” Nicholas answers without a doubt. Benedict notices the small display of a power shift. The otherwise laid-back Henry suddenly seems utterly commanding, while Nicholas, who always stands tall proudly, now takes a more submissive posture. Benedict does not know who of the two he’d rather be in this very moment.  
Nicholas does continue to rid off Henry’s clothing, and once he does so, Benedict nearly moans at the sight of Nicholas diving in. Kissing Henry’s hard and fierce cock with the same passion he’d kissed his lover’s torso with.

“Benedict,” Henry speaks softly. Much softer than the way he’d approached Nicholas. It makes Benedict’s heart flutter within his chest. “If you wish to stop, at whatever moment, you should tell us.” Nicholas attempts to straighten his back to speak, but a firm hand keeps him in place. Nicholas whimpers and Benedict glances at him quickly. If anything, the young lord’s enthusiasm has only grown brighter.  
“He likes this,” Henry breathes, “-likes to be manhandled. Now, Bridgerton. What would you like?” It’s most daring, this question. And Benedict finds himself unable to answer. He honestly does not know. 

He does know he wishes to join, however. So instead of answering, he loosens his cravat and drops it. He takes his rightful place next to Nicholas on the floor, looking up at Henry innocently.  
“I want it all, except I… I may not know how to do it.” The answer seems to please Henry, and Benedict adores the warm feeling spreading across his chest.  
“If your lovemaking is as passionate as your art, I should not think myself concerned about that. I-”   
Henry’s words are replaced with a surprised moan. Benedict’s eyes dart to Nicholas again. The boy has moved his kisses lower, gently suckling at Henry’s balls. Benedict’s nostrils flare. No lady has ever done that to him. Judging by Sir Granville’s response, it must feel exquisitely wonderful.

“Do you wish to taste me, Benedict?” Henry’s voice draws him back to the present, and Benedict suddenly finds himself timid. He longs to steal a taste from the man in front of him. To capture the shiny cock between his lips; the shaft still glistening from Nicholas’s earlier attention.   
“I- I do,” Benedict chokes out. Henry hums delightedly and gently strokes Benedict’s hair.  
“You truly are the most gorgeous Bridgerton,” he mumbles. “Come, dearest. Try it.”

Benedict slowly leans forward. He’s careful not to push Nicholas out of the way, yet, he can feel the other boy’s hair tickling against his throat.   
Benedict is careful. He presses a chaste kiss onto the shaft. Another one, just a tad lower. And another one. And another. And his lips part, desiring to devour more of the man. A light, salty taste spreads on his tongue. Benedict moans and scoots even closer. His fingers claw at the floor to steady himself when he cranes his neck and finally sucks the tip into his mouth.  
“Bloody…” Henry grunts, pleasure seeping from his voice. “You both look amazing down on your knees for me. So pretty. How lucky I find myself.”  
Benedict’s face turns as red as a ripe tomato. The words reverberate in his mind. _Pretty,_ he thinks. No one has ever called him pretty before, and he loves it. He needs it. He needs to hear it again.  
“Pretty?” He tries, an attempt to lure the man into saying it another time. Henry chuckles and nods. He extends his arm and trails his fingers past Benedict's flaring hot cheeks.  
“Very pretty, dear. Now get back to it, you were doing so well.”

A gentle tug on his hair makes his knees feel weak. He lets the grip guide him forward again and takes the fierce cock back into his mouth, earning him another pleased groan. He falls into a steady rhythm then, moving up and down, his lips dragging past the hard, wet flesh. Henry’s praise and the warmth of Nicholas’s body next to him spur Benedict on. At one point, Nick’s fingers interlace with his on the floor.  
“Benedict… Ben-” Henry growls. “Keep going. You’re perfect, a natural, making me feel so good.”  
“Hnngh!” Benedict tries to answer, but his words are muffled. Henry laughs breathlessly and tugs again, tipping Benedict's head backwards this time.   
“Look at you… Lips red and swollen, so enticing, is it not, Nicholas?” With that, the grip on his hair is gone, and Benedict’s head snaps sideways to find the young lord staring right back at him. Benedict had never allowed himself to truly look at him, but Nicholas _is_ undoubtedly a gorgeous man. He’s delicate, much different from Henry’s more rounded figure.   
“Very kissable indeed,” Nicholas answers Henry’s statement.

“Can I…?” Benedict whispers. Nicholas sends him the most gentle of smiles, and he nods, leaning in. His slender fingers grip the collar of Benedict’s shirt to draw him in closer, and he groans. Benedict leans in as well, tilting his head, and when his lips touch Wetherby’s ones, he senses every last bit of resistance crumbling inside of him. Nicholas’s kiss is eager and willing, and Benedict can only return the affection. He shifts closer, his arms wrapping around the slim figure and draws him in until both their bodies melt together. Benedict can feel the soft stubble on Nicholas’s upper lip. It is strange not to be pushed back by the curves of a woman’s chest, and-  
A startled gasp leaves Benedict’s mouth when he can feel the hardness that is still covered by Nicholas’s breeches. Benedict grunts, pressing his crotch closer. Nicholas responds with the same amount of passion as they find themselves rutting against each other. Benedict’s mind is spinning, tolling, a flickering image appears in his mind, the image of having Lord Wetherby pinned onto the mattress, their bodies naked, his cock driven deep inside of-

“W-Wait,” Benedict moans and pulls back slightly. “I have so many questions. How does this… Work? How-” He gasps when Nicholas ruts against him once more. “Good fucking God,” Benedict growls. “This feels so good.”  
“We will show you all, Bridgerton,” Henry breathes, watching his boys intently “Patience is a virtue, is it not?”   
“Virtue,” Benedict scoffs chuckling. “I’m afraid I lost mine the minute we met, Sir.”  
“How polite of you to call me Sir while you accuse me of compromising you.” Benedict grins at that widely, his hands still gripping at Nicholas’s moving, grinding hips.   
“Then why don’t you compromise me some more while we’re at it?”

Benedict’s words echo through the silence of the room for a moment. It’s a challenge. It’s a plea for more.

“On the bed. Both of you. Now.” Henry growls low in his throat. Benedict’s heart hammers in his chest, and his cock stirs, nearly straining within the fabric that covers it still. Nicholas scrambles to his feet and lays down on his back. Henry seizes the opportunity to crawl over him and lather him with hungry kisses. He mumbles something inaudible into Nicholas’s ear, and the lord moans a loud yes.   
“Benedict,” Henry looks over his shoulder. “I believe I told you to join us here.”  
Benedict quickly crawls onto the thick sheets that cover the bed. Henry wastes no time and finally steals the kiss that both men long for. 

Henry is a much different kisser than Nicholas. Where Nicholas is eager, Henry is demanding. Where Nicholas is gentle, Henry is rough. Their lips catch in an open-mouthed messy encounter. Benedict can only choke out Henry’s name as he feels the man’s tongue slip inside. The light hint of brandy that’s still there only adds to the pleasure. A woman would never dare kiss him like this, to treat him with such force.  
“Please, Sir,” he breathes, enjoying the way Henry’s body seems to tremor at the title. In this very moment, he wishes not to be a lord, just like Nicholas wishes not to be. Benedict wants Henry to own them. To guide them and take them to the stars. “I wish to be yours.”

“You already are, dearest,” Henry growls. “Though I would certainly not be opposed to seeing you naked. Strip.”  
Benedict has never made such haste to undo himself of his clothes. He does not care when he rips off one of the cufflinks in his hurry. He does not care about folds and creases as he throws his shirt onto the floor. A ragged breath leaps from his throat when Nicholas rolls onto his side to help and speed up the process of getting _the_ Benedict Bridgerton naked. Benedict does not have time to settle or feel ashamed about his appearance, even, when Nicholas’s fingers curl around his stiff member and move.   
“ _Oh!_ ” Benedict exclaims, doubling over as pleasure shoots down his spine. “Y-Yes, Nick!” 

He does not know how it happens, but somehow Henry shifts, and suddenly Benedict is seated between Nick’s widely spread thighs. Henry presses up against him from behind. Hot, wet kisses are attacking the sensitive skin of his neck. Nicholas is still jerking Benedict’s cock fast. Henry’s hands touch benedict’s body demandingly. Claiming. And Benedict is more than willing to be claimed if this is what he gets in exchange.   
“Ben,” Henry mumbles into his ear and sucks one of the lobes into his mouth. Benedict lets out a surprised laugh at the tickling sensation but leans into the touch. “Nicholas and I have been… _Playing_ , earlier.”  
“Oh?”   
“Yeah. Do you wish to see?” Benedict has no clue what exactly they will show him, but he nods eagerly. He needs to see anything. Anything at all.

“My sweetest boy,” Henry coos at Nicholas. “Show Benedict your hole.”

Strangely enough, Benedict had pondered every possible explanation of how two men could lay together, yet this had never come to his mind. When he sees the tight muscled ring, clenching around nothing at all, it does not seem so unimaginable anymore. He can see it so clearly now, how his cock would drive deep inside the other man. 

He has one concern, though.

“Does it not hurt?” Benedict mumbles quietly; his gaze still fixed on the entrance. Nicholas shakes his head right away.  
“Not if you prepare well,” he groans. “It feels amazing, truly. Please, Benedict. Please, I wish for you to take me.” Benedict glances at Sir Granville. The painter licks his lips.  
“He _will_ take you, Nicholas,” Henry answers for him. “But all in good time. First, we should show him how one makes a man ready, should we not?” Benedict can not see Henry, but he can feel his weight shift on the bed as Henry grabs something from the bedside table. “Here, stick your fingers into this.”

Benedict obeys and sticks his fingers’ tips in what seems to be a thick sort of oily substance. He lifts his hand and stares at it, wondering if this is the same oil that he sees smeared at Nicholas’s bottom. Henry dips his fingers into the container as well. Then he grins at Benedict.  
“I’ll show you.”

Henry leans forward, as much as possible with Benedict’s body still in between the two lovers. A most strategic position one might say. Benedicts gasps when he sees how Henry circles his oil-stained fingers around the seemingly tight entrance. Nicholas lets out a shaky breath, and he drops his knees to the side even further.  
“Please,” he pleads. “Do not make me wait, Sir.”  
“As you wish, boy.” Henry grunts and pushes the first digit inside. Nicholas’s face contorts with pleasure, and he fists the sheets, arching his lower back. Benedict can only watch entranced as he imagines what it must feel like from either perspective; to have his fingers disappear into Nicholas’s gripping walls, or to have Henry’s finger up in his hole, toying around as he pleases. 

_Both_ , he knows. _He cannot choose; he wants to experience both._

“Good boy, Nick,” Henry groans, ripping Benedict straight from his thoughts. Nicholas keens at the praise and moans louder. “Benedict will open you up now, is that okay?”  
“Please, Benedict, please,” Nicholas begs desperately, and he sobs with the lack of stimulation when Henry pulls out. The older man grips Benedict’s wrist though, and slowly but surely, he guides Benedict’s hand towards Nicholas’s clenching hole.  
“Push a finger inside, Ben. Palm upwards.”

Benedict succumbs to the strict instruction and slowly, he pushes inside. His jaw drops in astonishment when he feels the heat wrap around his finger and the way Nicholas tries to grind down on it. It becomes all the easier to imagine his finger would be replaced by his hard, throbbing cock.   
Everything turns into a haze. He’s aware of Henry’s hands gliding up his chest. The way a still-slick finger rubs small circles around his hardened nipple and then squeezes.  
“Add another finger, Benedict,” Henry breathes. And then, later. “Another.”   
Benedict reels with joy. With pleasure. With want and lust and anything that seemed impossible to experience at the same time. He soon has Nicholas filled with three of his fingers. 

“Benedict, I-I need you to curl your fingers. Please, I- _Aaargh! Yes, yes, yes!_ ”  
“Oh fuck, Nicholas, you are so pretty like this. You like it, don’t you?” Benedict growls. “You like having something inside of you this much?” Nicholas can only confirm with yet another broken high-pitched moan.  
“You’re gaining confidence,” Henry teases. “I like it. It suits you.”  
“Thank you, _Sir_ ,” Benedict answers, quickly glancing over his shoulder to see the playful, cheery twinkling of Granville’s stare.  
“And you still know your place, God. You’re the perfect match for us.”

Without warning, Henry suddenly curls his fingers around the base of Benedict’s cock and squeezes. Benedict’s eyelids flutter shut, and he drops his head back to rest against the man’s muscular chest. He still pumps his fingers in and out of Nicholas’s body and inhales sharply when he feels Henry’s free hand lower itself on his back until a slick finger teases his own hole. Benedict fears he might shatter if Henry continues.   
“Don’t you have the most lovely cock,” Henry starts as he drags up and down Benedict’s shaft. The Bridgerton boy gasps when slowly, a finger plunges inside of him. He widens his legs a bit more. “Thick and large. Perfectly suitable for a gentleman like you.”  
“T-Thank you?” He stammers.  
“I think you should like to fuck Nicholas with it.”

Benedict’s eyes fly open again, and he stares down at himself, then at his fingers that are stretching the lord’s hole.  
“Does it fit?” He asks, feeling unsure of his girth. Surely, his fingers cannot replicate the real thing.  
“Why don’t you try?” Henry suggests slowly working a second finger inside of Benedict. He stretches him, opening him up, and Benedict knows, there and then, that he will have Henry inside of him later this evening.

Benedict is suddenly overcome with a sense of uncertainty. Everything else had been adventurous, playful. It could still be laughed off as a drunk experiment, a lack of clarity. Not that he is intoxicated in the slightest, but it’d be easy to pretend. It weighs on him, what it means that he wants this so badly. It shakes him to his very core. There’s no denying his feelings any longer.  
“Don’t worry,” Nicholas breathes quietly. “Your body will know what to do. As will mine.”  
Benedict nods solemnly, and he sighs, quivering as he retracts his fingers and scoots forward. Henry takes the liberty to take some more of the slick and spread it across Benedict’s cock.  
“Never slick enough,” Henry grins. The sparks that it ignites burn out any of the doubts that had clouded him mere seconds ago. No one knows he’s here, no one but the people that matter.

Nicholas gestures for Benedict to lean in. He does so, hovering over the young lord’s body with his own. Nicholas wraps his arms around Benedict’s neck and kisses him rough and fast, almost greedily so.  
Benedict shivers when he feels how Henry, very gently, leads Benedict’s cock towards Nicholas’s heat. When his tip brushes against the muscle, Henry lets go of him and carefully places a hand on his lower back to spur him on.   
“Take him, Ben. Take him. He’s yearning for it.”

Benedict slowly rolls his hips forward and lets out a silent cry of pleasure when he feels how he slips inside. It’s so, so much tighter than any woman he’s ever laid with. Slick with oil, he doesn’t have to put in much effort. Nicholas’s body accepts the intrusion masterfully well.  
“Nicholas, fuck-” he stammers and slowly pulls back, only to snap his hips forward again. They’d been right. _This is right_. Everything about it is natural. It makes sense. It works, and he needs forever more of it.

“Benedict, Good God, you feel so good. Please, please do it harder. I can take it. I want to feel it.” Nicholas babbles incoherently, and Benedicts obeys the simple wish.  
“You two look perfect,” Henry growls. Benedict whimpers at the words. He feels so worked up as he pounds into the boy beneath him. It’s feral, almost animalistic how he takes, takes, and takes, and yet, he feels that real pleasure is out of reach. When Henry pushes a third finger inside, he finally understands why.  
“Please, Sir, please,” Benedict pleads the older man. “Will you take me the way I’m taking Nick? I want to feel it. Want to be filled.”

“Yes, fuck, yes-” Henry gasps, while Nicholas whines and tugs at Benedict’s hips to have him lay still. Benedict goes limp on top of Nicholas’s body, smiling when he can hear both their heartbeats racing within their chests.   
“Tell me if I should stop,” Henry warns quietly before lining up and pushing inside. He’s skillfully slow, yet Benedict clutches at Nicholas’s body tightly. It feels so _godforsaken_ intense, and unlike anything he had ever felt. It’s miraculous. Blissful.   
“Shhhh,” Henry coos, “Good boy. So beautiful. Relax, allow me to go deeper.” Benedict whimpers and tries to listen. He lets out a shaky breath, relishing in the overwhelming pressure of it all. He is vaguely aware of Nicholas’s lips nibbling at his neck. Nicholas’s fingers are tracing patterns across his scalp. Slowly, he can feel his body grant more access to the prodding intrusion. And-  
“Ah- Fuck!” He groans submissively when he realises Henry is wholly inside of him. The man’s balls rest against his asscheeks, and the stretch inside of him is all-encompassing, to say at least.   
“Sir…” he pants. “Can I move?”  
“Yes, Ben. Yes. Make love to us.”

Benedict growls and starts rolling his hips forward again, rutting passionately into Nicholas’s tightness. With every forward thrust, he can feel the drag of Henry’s cock almost slipping past his muscle, and whenever he pulls away from Nicholas, he pierces himself open on the painter’s stiff member. It’s mind-boggling how well their bodies move together.   
Benedict can no longer think clearly. He can not distinguish where his own body ends and the others begin. Doesn’t know how he will release the pent-up tightness coiling deep in the pit of his stomach. Surely, his body cannot handle this. Surely, he must burst and break at some point. 

Even in his haze, he sees the way Nicholas’s cock bounces against his stomach, awfully neglected. Benedict quickly steadies himself and grips the other boy’s member within his hand. Stroking up and down the shaft so fast-paced that Nicholas’s eyes fly open in wonderment. He does not utter a word. Benedict takes it as a good sign. Henry, behind him, pants heavily.  
“Benedict, God, I want to ravish you- Let me. Let me be harsh.”  
“Do it,” he replies. “Sir, please, I want you to.”

Henry grunts and grabs a handful of Benedict’s hair to tug at it sharply. At the same time, Nicholas squeezes his muscle around him- Benedict simply sees the stars.  
“Good Lord, Benedict… Ben, Ben, Ben…” Henry babbles and angles differently, the man’s cock tipping against the sweet spot inside of him. “Imma fill you up- I’ll-!”   
Henry never gets to finish his words. A large shiver runs through Henry’s body as he stills on top. Benedict can feel the cock twitch inside of him; then, the slickness that coats his insides. It is enough for Benedict to want to release as well. He quickens his pace at Wetherby’s cock and gasps when he can feel it harden in his hand even more.  
“Benedict!” Nicholas cries. “Please, please, please!”

“N-Nick, Henry! Sir! I will spill if we don’t- if we- I- _Ah… AH_!” Benedict cries out when pleasure rips right through him. He groans, loud and nearly feral as his cock spurts and throbs within Nicholas’ depths. Benedict trembles, his entire body does, as he feels wave after wave course through him. His body collapses on top of Nicholas’s, and he smiles dazedly when he feels a sticky dripping down his hand.

Benedict does not know how much time has passed when Henry gently pulls out of him. He groans weakly. Nicholas stirs as well and Benedict’s eyes flutter open.  
“Thank you,” he breathes when he slowly rolls aside to grant Nicholas some more breathing space. “That was… You’ll have to excuse me, I do not have the words. I’m completely spent.”  
“You need more practice,” Nicholas grins sheepishly and sits upright. He grabs the cloth that rests conveniently on the bedside table and uses it to clean himself up, then hands it over to the other men to do the same.

As their bodies tangle together under the thick, warm sheets to rest, Benedict does not feel shame any longer. In fact, he’s never felt more at home within his body. He wonders if they’ll let him stay the night. He hopes they will, although he would understand if they’d prefer their privacy.   
Benedict does not have to wait long for his answer. Henry shifts closer and starts tracing patterns on his thigh. Nicholas leans in and starts sucking gently at one of Benedict’s nipples, sometimes bordering naughty when he grazes his teeth past the pink bud.   
“There’s so much more we wish to teach you,” Nicholas sighs happily against him, and Benedict’s eyes widen.  
“There’s more?”  
“Yes, darling,” Henry says and straddles Benedict’s upper legs. “So much more.”

_“Show me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! <3 Comments are very much appreciated!!!!
> 
> I may write more in the setting of this fic (am thinking of a Nicholas/Henry prequel, but I'm not sure yet. I'll add this piece to an AO3 series so that in case you would like to stay updated on any other fics related to this one, you can subscribe to the series as a whole! I'm not sure when I'll write/update, but I'm planning to do it one day.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this, I hope you have a lovely day!  
> -Kim
> 
> Ps. If you know any other good works about Benedict, don't hesitate to send them to me!


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